


And even the devil will cry

by Ricky B (littletoes101)



Category: Baccano!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-06 13:45:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1107560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littletoes101/pseuds/Ricky%20B
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“If he could've seen the future, Ladd Russo still would've followed Huey Laforet when he told him to.” In 1935 after the death of his fiancee, Ladd finally gets the chance to kill Huey, but the terrorist's strange behavior makes him hesitate. He's taken into the dirty business of alchemists, immortals, and terrorists against his will, but he wouldn't change it. However, when a certain immortal returns from the dead to terrorize his target once more, he gets dragged into mess of events that cause multiple homicides, arson, Romeos & Juliets, hate crimes, and public executions. The events that follow would make the devil cry. [Warning for slash, femslash, explicit content, gore, mentions of rape/sexual assault, inconsistencies with canon, and a multitude of other things].</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. He's a Monster

**Author's Note:**

> Hello yes here I am with my first multichapter fic focusing mostly on Ladd, Huey, the other Laforets, Huey's many cult followers, and other characters I don't usually put the spotlight on. Remember to comment/kudos if you liked it!

When he was born, they called him the prettiest baby they'd ever seen.

When he was seven, they called him a good boy.

When he was fourteen, they called him a dapper young man.

When he was twenty-one, they called him ruthless.

Now, at twenty-five, they called him a monster. They also called him alone.

Ladd Russo couldn't remember a single time in his life where he was alone, but here he was. Alone and pissed off beyond belief. He couldn't believe someone had the nerve, someone went and did it when they knew he was out there. When they knew he was alive.

He couldn't believe someone had killed her.

He hissed and cursed like a wounded cat, ducking into an alley. Ladd looked up at the sky; it was gray and cloudy, as the skies often were in New York at this particular time of the year. What the hell. He could smell it in the air, he knew it was going to rain, and he cursed again. Maybe this was his punishment, maybe this was the earth turning against him, telling him that he'd worn out his welcome after twenty-five long years.

Maybe tonight was the night he was going to die.

“What's got you cussing like this? This isn't like you, Ladd Russo.” Ladd's head whipped around, a perfect one-hundred and eighty degree, as he looked over at the man who'd addressed him. It was a man he knew well, a man who'd been in prison with him. A man he'd sworn to kill a long time ago, and now it looked like he would finally be getting his chance. Ladd cracked his right knuckles with his left prosthetic, a thin smile appearing on his lips. Huey Laforet. His golden eyes glowed like a cat, and he tilted his head, the yellow light of the lamp he held casting his body in a gentle glow.

Anyone else might've called him an angel, but Ladd knew better. This was no angel in front of him. He might as well've been the devil's incarnate.

“Huey,” Ladd said coldly, his voice void of its' usual emotion. He palmed for the knife he'd bought at a corner store, and Huey's eyes followed his hands. He didn't move a muscle, didn't act scared, didn't act like Ladd could crush his throat with one hand if he wanted to, and Ladd knew he could. God, he was so freaking arrogant, so _safe_ in his own little world. He wanted to kill him so bad, he could taste it, but as he started walking towards him, Huey flinched and looked over his shoulder, that calm demeanor breaking a bit.

Huey was watching his back. He was worried about something. He was running from something. The rain began to fall in heavy drops, and Huey draped his coat over the lantern. Ladd hesitated.

“Follow me.” Huey ordered, turning and whipping away into the darkness. Ladd didn't hesitate to follow him, as if entranced by the bobbing yellow light that indicated where he was located. This was odd, as Ladd never took orders, but he did it for a reason. There was something that was scaring Huey, and he wanted to know what it was.

He wanted to get rid of it, so that the only person Huey could be terrified of was Ladd. But, if he could've seen the future, he would've known that Huey could never be terrified of him. If he could've seen the future, he would've known that what was scaring Huey was already a part of his own nightmares.

If he could've seen the future, Ladd Russo still would've followed Huey Laforet when he told him to.


	2. A House Divided

Chane Laforet was, to put it simply, happy that her father had come home. But that was just putting it simply. In truth, she was...elated, delighted, ready to fly and ready to die at the same time. Lightning could have struck her where she stood and she would've died with a smile on her face. She had become even more elated when she learned that he and Claire Stanfield, or “Felix Walken” as he was trying to get everyone to call him nowadays, had struck a deal. If she had a voice, she'd sing.

However, all good things come with a price tag, and Chane was about to see what it was. Currently, she was sewing up a tear in one of her dresses, her fingers moving swiftly and nimbly as she did. She'd known how ever since she was very young; it was one of the skills her father taught her. It was one of the only times he'd ever touched her, and she relished the feeling of his hands on hers, the warmth of his body pressed close to her, hearing his heart beating methodically in his chest.

At the sound of someone pressing on the door handle, Chane leapt to her feet, grabbing her knife off of the scarred table in the kitchen where she'd been sitting, holding it out defensively in front of her. Although there had been no attempts of robbery or break-ins while she had lived in this apartment, Chane wasn't one for taking chances. Her life as an assassin, as a terrorist, had taught her that one wrong move could cost you your life.

She stood there cautiously, but once her father came through the door, she began to relax. He was wet, and his soaked raven locks clung to his face, as did his clothes. Chane was reminded of how pitifully thin he was, and her mouth pressed into a frown. His bones showed much too easily through his skin, and he looked like a scraggly stray cat. He looked so beaten down, so weary. The only thing that kept Chane from worrying too much was the fact that he was immortal. Just as she was going to approach him, Chane stopped dead in her tracks, her golden eyes turning feral at the sight of the man behind him.

Equally wet and many more levels pissed off than Huey was Ladd, standing behind him and wasting no time in stripping off his drenched suit jacket and tossing it on the ground like cheap rags. Chane's knife whipped up again, but just as she was going to take a stab at him, her father's voice cut through her red haze of anger;

“Chane. Relax. He is important.” Only at his voice did she hesitate, and Ladd's eyes met hers. They were unusually cold and expressionless, and Chane's knife returned to its sheath at her hip. There was something terribly wrong with this situation, but she couldn't pinpoint it. Sitting heavily in the kitchen chair, she looked up at Huey with a question in her eyes. At the movement of his eyes and tilt of his chin, she knew that they'd talk about it later.

Ladd had finished stripping off the top layer of his clothes and was now standing topless, leaning against the wall and smoothing back his wet hair. Huey gave him a look that was a mix of disgust and annoyance. “Got any towels around here? Or some heat? I'm freezin' my ass off.”

Grabbing a towel from on top of the granite counter top in the kitchen, Huey tossed it to him. “Make yourself decent, then we'll talk.” Ladd grumbled in response to that, but he made his way down the only hallway to the bathroom, and as soon as she heard the door shut and lock, Chane whipped around to face her father, golden eyes wide.

_Father, why?_

“Because. He is going to be important to the mission.” Huey paused. “Once I'm done with him, you may do whatever you'd like with him. I doubt he'll mind at this point.”

_Something happened._

“Yes. His fiancee is dead.”

So that was it. Chane blinked. She didn't feel anything, except for a bit of curiosity as to who would do such a thing. After all, she had no personal connection to Lua Klein, except that she'd been the one Claire had used as bait to trick Ladd into sending himself off of the Flying Pussyfoot all those years ago.

Either way, no matter what the outcome was going to be, Chane would not be satisfied until Ladd was out of the picture. Until then, they'd be living in a house divided.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm trash hahaha look just in time for the new year a new chapter of this fic!!! and yeah things are going kinda slow but I promise they'll pick up in a chapter or two, just gotta get the exposition out of the way


End file.
